How to Please a Witch
by 0tree0
Summary: For the first time in his life Sirius Black was going to seduce a woman not for the thrill, not for the buzz, not for the moment, but for the consequences. AGE DIFFERENCE Newly BETA'd by the wonderful Dr.Rae!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I sadly own nothing you recognise, all of the characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**BETA: This story has been newly BETA'd by the wonderful Dr. Rae, so many thanks to her, any remaining mistakes are my own!**

**WARNING: Age difference, if the flavour offends, please be so kind as to try another story.**

**Rating: T **

**A/N: I really don't know what brought this on. It is new territory in just about every way for me; I am still not sure if I like every aspect of it. The multiple chapters are just because the piece did not flow as one extended text. They represent a significant change of time or scene, nothing more. **

**Feedback is warmly welcomed and appreciated. Enjoy.**

**0tree0**

Chapter 1:

Sirius Black was not really, nor had he ever been, a man of impeccable moral standing. He could hardly be accused of fair play and would probably laugh in your face if you asked him whether he stopped and thought about the consequences of his actions. He had lived and breathed spontaneity in his Hogwarts days, and he had resolutely refused to speculate about the future—determined, in short, to live in the now. It was, he had believed, the moment that mattered.

He did realise now, looking back with faded, though still faintly rose-tinted glasses, that it had been the sensation he had craved, not the act. He needed to feel, needed to hear his own heart pounding—craved, needed, as if it were oxygen: the fear, the adrenaline, the mind-shattering exhilaration which came with chasing the forbidden.

And by Jove was she off limits. He struggled with himself. The dominant, commanding nature of the Sirius Black of his youth had never really faded; it had simply dozed. There was a slightly more responsible man occupying his place these days. Still probably not appropriate for the age of the bones, but more... respectable, he supposed one might argue. As it was, this man had been hard pressed of late; the burning need to pursue what he knew he most definitely should not was all consuming. In his mind's eye he could see himself back at Hogwarts: he, James, Remus and even Peter, plotting, planning, and scheming.

Because, you see, it really was that simple. Sirius Black always got something if he wanted it badly enough. He always came out on top-usually literally-and always got the girl. It was just the way it worked. He knew realistically it wasn't so much the practical challenge: she had a boyfriend, was his guest, was considerably younger, and could, if anyone found out, mean life getting irreparably complicated and potentially painful, it was her reaction which made him hesitate.

He supposed that the conquest in itself would be easy enough-he knew he could please a woman, knew he could leave her incoherent in the end. But ensure she could live with the guilt afterwards, of that he wasn't so certain.

It was only the unexpected growth of a conscience, a curious acquisition he couldn't recall the origins of, which currently protected Hermione Granger from his libido.

Brought rather abruptly from his thoughts by a loud thud, he sighed and elected to investigate. He supposed indulging fantasies of scantily clad Gryffindors would do little to help his problem and he might really, at least when said Gryffindor was still wandering about his house, benefit from a distraction.

Fate, it would seem, was not going to be his friend today.

Peering through the crack in the not-quite-closed door to the room shared by Hermione and Ginny, conveniently located just above the kitchen, he was presented with a sight that both amused and irked him.

"Ronald Weasley, you have absolutely no respect for women!" Hermione yelled. "Did you really think _this_ would be a good idea?" At the end she lowered her voice to a hiss.

Not quite able to see what the red-head had presented his new girlfriend with, Sirius could only wince at his response.

"Well, you like books!" Ron bellowed in return. "No need to bloody shout at me! I mean, I was only trying to help, wasn't I? It's hardly my fault your technique could use a little improvement."

There was a pregnant pause. Sirius realised he was holding his breath as he released it explosively when he heard the smash.

"Get out." It was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with menace.

_Leave, just leave,_ Sirius found himself chanting in his head. The boy was certainly a first class buffoon when it came to women, but he had to realise saying anything else would be a mistake.

"But 'Mione, be reasonable..."

Shit. It would seem, Sirius reasoned, that Molly Weasley would be a few grandchildren short of what she had hoped for after all.

"Reasonable?" Her voice became softer.

There was another crack. Suddenly, hesitant footsteps became a sprint; Ron came pelting out of the bedroom at break-neck speed.

"I'd stay out of there mate, the woman's gone mental!" He shouted as he ran past.

Looking back at the door, Sirius was confronted with a suspiciously calm Hermione Granger.

They stood looking at each other for a long moment before they simultaneously broke the silence.

"I really am..." She started.

"I hope that..." He began.

They both fell silent again.

"He's a prick," Sirius offered.

Hermione sighed and looked at her feet.

"He's also my boyfriend." She looked back up with a slightly twisted smile on her face.

Sirius sighed in return. "I'm sorry chick." he replied, opening his arms slightly in invitation.

There was almost no hesitation as she threw herself into his arms and started to cry. He murmured soothing words into her hair as he rubbed her back. She shuddered as he held her close.

They stood like that for a while, until her shaking ceased and her sobs abated. She drew away with a sniff, her face red and blotchy, and her eyes downcast. She opened her mouth to thank him, but paused as he held his hands up.

"Don't fret it, chick."

And that was all that was said. She offered him a watery smile and nodded, retreating back into the safety of her room.

Sirius sighed and leaned against the banister immediately to his left. All he could think about was her small body in his arms. It had been an inhuman restraint which stopped him from taking advantage. It was something terrifying which made him grateful he had not.

What the meeting had achieved, however, was making up his mind. Ronald Weasley did not deserve her, and whilst he was almost certain he definitely didn't either, he would make her realise as much. Cost be damned.

For the first time in his life, Sirius Black was going to seduce a woman not for the thrill, not for the buzz, not for the moment, but for the consequences.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Despite the close proximity in which they lived, Sirius saw neither hide nor hair of Hermione Granger for two days after the incident with Ron. When their paths finally did cross, she looked, if possible, worse than before.

The red rings around her eyes indicated she had been crying recently, her wilder than normal hair hinted she might not have left her room since they had last spoken.

She visibly swallowed, a copy of Hamlet held loosely in one hand, as she realised her chosen reading spot was already occupied. The porch at the rear of number twelve had long been a favourite of both Sirius and Hermione, not that she knew that. He tended to sit out there in the very early hours of the morning, sometimes heading upstairs with only an hour or so before breakfast, but more often than not falling asleep out there. She tended to sit out there until about midnight. He knew because it was the reason he stopped heading out quite so early.

He met her gaze wordlessly.

She swallowed again, and he could already see her eyes filling with tears as she stood framed with an amber glow, the firelight in the kitchen behind her spilling out from the doorway. He thought then that she looked rather like an oil painting he had seen in an art gallery in Paris once, a pale beauty bathed in light.

He did precisely the same as he had done before: he opened his arms to her and she, as before, rushed to him and dissolved into his arms. She cried quietly this time, more because she couldn't stop than because she was upset.

After a while, she sighed and rubbed her eyes. She did not withdraw as she had before, however. Instead, she leaned into his warmth, snuggling into his chest.

It was his turn to swallow now. Her weight against him was like torture. _How long has it been_, he silently asked himself, _since a woman has draped herself over me quite so readily?_

_At least six months,_ his brain supplied. He clenched his teeth together in a bid to repress his desire. God, he hated the little smug voice that answered his own rhetorical questions. _It sounds like Remus,_ he thought distantly.

In a bid to divert himself, he decided to put the plan he had so painstakingly constructed two nights ago into action. He began to gently trace circles on the thigh she had curled towards him earlier—nothing presumptuous or even inappropriate, but enough to subtly begin to plant the seed.

"Thank you," he heard her breathe softly.

"Hey, don't mention it, chick," he whispered.

She didn't say anything for such a long time he thought she might have fallen asleep.

"You never asked what he did," she said matter-of-factly.

"Not my business," he responded honestly.

She chuckled softly, sending delicious vibrations through his chest.

"Mind giving Ron some tips?" She requested humourlessly.

"Where would I start?" He asked in the same tone.

She buried the tip of her now cold nose into his collar, unknowingly exposing a little more skin, her soft flesh now flush against him. This was, he decided, something akin to blissful agony.

"Hm. You could start with teaching him when not to stick his nose in, and when not to be an insensitive git." Her voice only cracked a little at the end.

He chuckled darkly.

"That isn't something taught, my chick. You've either got it or you don't."

"Well he certainly hasn't." She sniffed.

He sighed softly, rubbing her leg comfortingly.

"The thing with boys_ like_ Ron is they don't know what they've got 'till it's gone. They take people for granted, and they just don't get it. The thingwith_ Ron _is that he doesn't want to. He wants the world to form around him, and it'd take a miracle to make him realise he's the one with the problem."

"Is he though?" Her voice shook.

"Hey, you're talking nonsense now. Take it from a man of the world, chick. He needs to grow up, and quickly, too." He looked down at her, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

She smiled a little and then looked up, meeting his eyes once more. He felt a jolt run through him. _Her eyes are breathtaking,_ he thought. How the stupid git had ever thought it was a good idea to risk losing this, he didn't know. But then he probably, in reality, didn't realise how close he had come-or that he had competition.

"Thank you," she said meaningfully. "And I'm sorry about..." She began to gesture at herself as he cut her off.

"If I minded, I wouldn't be here, hmm? Sometimes all you need is just a shoulder to lean on." He smiled.

She smiled in return, nodding and settling back down almost hesitantly to her previous position.

After a long time, she spoke again.

"It was a book, you know. Stupid, isn't it? Of all the things..." she trailed off.

"What was the book?" He asked gently.

She swallowed. "How to please your Wizard, 25 easy steps to learning what he wants."

"You're joking, right?" He demanded, leaning back to look at her again.

She smiled bitterly in response.

Sirius suddenly laughed softly. He felt Hermione jerk away as if stung, her eyes confused, hurt and angry. Realising what was about to happen he tightened his grip, clutching her against his chest.

"Let me... if you think this is so funny, then...!" She wriggled in an attempt to break free.

"Listen to me, Hermione," he growled. She stopped moving, her eyes suspicious but responding to his tone.

"I was laughing at him, not you. A man does not idly rile a witch like you, especially if he wishes to survive the encounter. I was laughing at his stupidity." He still held her tightly, watching her face as her eyes searched his.

She relaxed again and sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to it," he replied, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back.

Eventually, Sirius realised the sun was rising and he must have fallen asleep. Looking down at Hermione, he surmised he had not been the only one. Her small, delicate face lay half buried in the thick wool of his jumper. Her breathing was deep and slow, the unmistakable rhythm of sleep. He registered that her hands were ice cold with a frown. He shifted slightly, intending on carrying her to bed, but she began to stir.

"Sirius?" She mumbled.

"It's me, chick," he whispered softly, stroking her hair.

She sighed and drifted back into sleep.

He painstakingly shifted her so she was propped up against the back of the wooden swing seat they had occupied, and quickly removed his jumper to wrap around her in an effort to ward of the chill. Picking her up, it was not long before they were at the top of the stairs and Sirius was faced with a dilemma. If he took her back to her room he would almost certainly wake Ginny, and therefore almost certainly earn an interrogation from the girl-not something he was in the mood for. But if he took her to his room, she might flip at him come morning. Deciding to risk it, he carried her to his bed and tucked her in.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

He realised it was still early when he was woken by the sound of Molly in the kitchen. He had returned to the porch seat earlier that morning to sleep. Stretching, he made his way back into the house and decided to feed Buckbeak.

It was a little while later when he heard the door creak behind him. Wary of Buckbeak's temperament during breakfast, he turned immediately to warn the interloper.

To his mild surprise, Hermione stood there, in what was quite clearly his jumper. The sight made his chest constrict, she looked sumptuous. He had always thought there was nothing sexier than an attractive woman in his clothes. A brief, smug thought crossed his mind. _His. _Not Ron's.

She smiled and gestured him over. Nodding, he began to slowly back away from the Hippogriff, who briefly looked up at him before going back to the bloodied mass of dead Ferret on the floor.

Back against the wall beside her, he spoke softly.

"You alright? Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. Better than in ages, actually." Her smile was a little nervous.

"Good. Listen, sorry about the accommodation. Didn't fancy facing Ginny and the inquisition at sun up." He ran a hand through his hair ruefully.

She shook her head immediately. "No, it's fine. Really, thank you. Thanks for the jumper, too," she added, tugging at the too long sleeve with a small smile.

As if it had suddenly occurred to her he might want it back, she made to pull it off. Sirius caught both of her wrists, startling her. He slackened his grip and let his hand drop to hers, holding her own much smaller ones in his.

"Don't. You can keep it. Looks better on you than it ever did on me, anyway," he replied with a slightly suggestive wink.

She blushed furiously and nodded, hiding her face behind her curls. He laughed and released her, carelessly throwing an arm around her shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. He was surprised, but not displeased, when she slipped an arm around his waist in return.

Guiding them through the passageways, he probed her about her plans for the future and, much to her surprise, offered feedback.

They eventually concluded their discussion in the kitchen with the rest of the house, selecting breakfast options as they went.

"So you see, it's all quite simple. The field has been heftily neglected and they are literally crying out for staff there. And let's be honest: Florence? You couldn't ask for a more beautiful work place," she finished animatedly.

"Sounds perfect," he said, grinning wolfishly.

"I don't get why you don't get a job in England," Ron piped up.

He and Hermione had agreed to patch up their relationship early that morning. He had said he would try to be more understanding and she had said she would try to see things more from his perspective. So far they had already clashed on just about everything that had been discussed at the breakfast table: everything from her decision to specialise in experimental charms, to his insistence that as a Quidditch player he would need to be based in England.

Sirius had watched the exchanges with a combination of growing annoyance, bordering on anger with the red-head, and satisfaction.

Reaching under the table, he discreetly squeezed her hand. She clung to him like an anchor.

"Maybe..." Sirius began slowly, "you should consider the relative ease of apparition within Europe and, more importantly, that relationships are about give and take. A Quidditch player is rarely home anyway; where you live surely wouldn't make any real difference."

Ron's mouth dropped open; it was the first time Sirius had said anything to him all morning.

"And what would you know about relationships anyway?" Ron demanded hotly.

The table fell silent as everyone waited for Sirius' reply.

Sirius looked up with a dark smirk. "I've learned more than you will ever know, _boy,_" he said, his voice menacing.

"Oh, of course, because Sirius Black, the great womanizer, knows how to hold a serious relationship down, doesn't he?" He turned to Hermione. "Are you just going to stand there and let him talk to me like that?" He demanded.

Sirius reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder, offering her both support and reassurance. She closed her lips, on the verge of responding, and glared at her boyfriend.

"That there is your biggest mistake yet, my friend. You made it two-fold. Number one; do not ever draw double standards. I may not choose to hold down a relationship, but it does not make me incapable. But you? You try to and are quite spectacularly failing. Number two, people are not things. You can't control them, and you most definitely cannot control one more intelligent than you." He enunciated each word precisely.

In the silence which followed you could have heard a pin drop.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, senile old mutt," Ron spat in return.

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Really, Hermione, the boy is entitled to his opinion, so I won't begrudge him. I am certainly not going to be riled by a child." Sirius was actually smiling, if a little sarcastically.

Sirius let his hand fall from her shoulder and returned to his toast.

"That was out of order mate," Harry said quietly.

Ron rounded on him incredulously.

"I want to talk to you outside, now," Hermione hissed, distracting him from the uncomfortable looking black haired teen.

Ron smirked at Sirius across the table and left with her, grabbing her hand in his.

Sirius, however, didn't fail to notice the way she wrenched it back.

Harry turned to the grey eyed man, who had become suddenly very interested in his coffee.

"What was that about?" Harry asked him quietly.

"Not sure what you're talking about," he replied airily.

The look he got in return was an almost precise replica of Molly Weasley's 'this isn't going to wash with me' look. He couldn't decide whether it scared or amused him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd almost say that you were competing," Harry continued.

Sirius realised he had two choices at this point. Tell him the truth, or part of it, and risk his godson's ire, or lie and earn his suspicion. He personally didn't fancy either option.

He settled for a little of both.

"I'm just looking out for your friend is all," he replied, his face impassive.

Harry seemed to struggle with himself for a while before eventually responding, clearly choosing his words carefully.

"I don't care what you do, so long as she is happy. She and Ron really don't work together; even Mrs. Weasley can see it."

Sirius felt his entire body tense with the implications of what his godson had just said. He was, in effect, giving him permission to pursue the brunette. To what ends, however, he couldn't begin to guess. The past few days had taught Sirius that he had grossly underestimated the initial attraction he felt towards the young woman. He had assumed it would be a simply case of seduction and amicable parting, the affinity he felt for her, though, had thrown that askew. Could he make her happy? Could she make him happy? He swallowed. The thought of commitment to a relationship did not scare him as much as he thought it might. _As much as it should_, something in him screamed. Could he win her? Claim her, body, heart and soul?

"Sirius?" Harry was asking with a frown.

"You really don't mind?" The question left his traitorous lips before he had even thought it.

Harry smiled in relief, and shook his head.

"The way you two were talking earlier, I've never seen her so engrossed in something with someone like that. As weird as it feels to say it, I think you would be good together."

"Just how long have you been watching me Potter?" Sirius asked, both amused and a little horrified.

Harry shrugged. "Long enough."

"So you are admitting it then?" Harry asked slyly after a moment.

Sirius looked up at his too smug godson and rolled his eyes.

"Admitting what?" He asked innocently

"You have feelings for her," Harry responded.

Twisting his face, he sighed heavily before replying.

"Yes... what they are and what will come of them I don't know, though. I don't even know how much I feel for her, or if she even feels anything for me."

Harry snorted by way of response. Sirius raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I wouldn't worry on that score. She probably feels guilty about it, but she does like you an awful lot."

Sirius couldn't repress the hot rush of hope and pleasure that tore through him at that. He realised, belatedly, a little of it must have shown on his face, if his godson's smirk was anything to go by. Harry Potter, he decided, was most definitely the son of a Marauder.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

It was almost sunset before Sirius found Hermione again. She was sitting on the windowsill in one of the less visited parts of the house. She had the window open and a few leaves had drifted in, settling in her hair and on the faded rug in front of her. She had a hand propped up under her chin, still lost in the soft grey wool of the jumper he had given her. She wasn't crying, but her eyes betrayed her sadness.

Pausing to take in the sight, he smiled softly to himself. She was like coming home.

He began walking toward her, the sound of his bare feet on the dark wooden floor only audible due to the prevailing quiet. She looked up at him and smiled, beckoning him over to join her.

Sitting down beside her, he placed a companionable hand on the arm wrapped around her legs. She shifted slightly and placed her free hand over his.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, just, you know..." she replied softly, a dull smile creeping across her lips.

"Yeah, I know." He squeezed her arm comfortingly.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, staring out into the wilderness that was the garden below them.

"He accused me of cheating on him you know," she said with feigned nonchalance. "Said it must be the reason I've been so uptight with him lately."

Sirius' eyebrows shot towards his hairline in shock.

"What? Did he say what evidence he had to prove it?" he demanded.

She let out a snort of laughter. "This," she replied, plucking at the front of the jumper. "You don't need to worry; he doesn't know its yours," she supplied quickly.

He let out a bark of laughter in response.

"You really think I'd care even if he did? That boy needs to learn to sort his priorities out." A sudden smile crept across his features.

"Want a shirt to match?"

She laughed then, a genuine, rich, hearty laugh.

"Yes that would go down wonderfully. Perhaps we can match the colour to my favourite pyjama bottoms too?" she replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"I don't have a lilac shirt unfortunately," he replied with a convincingly heartbroken expression.

"How do you know the lilac ones are my favourite?" she demanded.

He gave her a slightly incredulous look. "I'm a man?"

She looked at him with a puzzled crease in her brow.

"Honestly?" he asked meaningfully.

She leaned forward slightly in anticipation.

"Promise you won't be offended?"

She nodded eagerly.

He leaned towards her, their faces inches apart.

"They're my favourites, too. In those oh, so wonderfully form fitting little bottoms, I can't take my eyes off you." His heart was suddenly in his mouth. Do or die. This was it.

Would she be disgusted, would she be angry, would she even feel betrayed? He had, after all, used her rocky relationship with Ron to get close to her; had deliberately gone out of his way to be there whenever she needed someone; had wanted, from the outset, to lay claim to her.

Her eyes widened briefly, and then closed. A shiver wracked her body—whether from relief or repulsion, he couldn't tell. He made to move back a little and her eyes flew open. Her grip became like iron as she held him in place, searching his eyes with her own, her gaze intense and uncertain.

She licked her lips. "If this is a joke..."

"Well that depends..." he began slowly, his face still close to hers.

"On?" she asked quickly.

"Whether you want it to be," he returned, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips, flicking back up to meet her gaze.

"You're not like Ron," she blurted, hoping he would take it the way she meant it, rather than the way it sounded.

"No I'm not," he agreed slowly, "You're not the first woman I have ever been attracted to, I am not sweet and innocent, and I won't pretend otherwise. I have a terrible track record, I smoke too much, I am far too old for you, and I am everything he isn't," he concluded. "I know who I am and you get what you see."

"How much of it do I get?" she asked breathlessly, leaning closer still.

"All of it, chick. It's all yours if you want it," he growled softly.

She let out a shuddering sigh and slowly smiled. Her eyes found his again and the look she sent him was smouldering. She leaned in to kiss him but paused when he placed a finger over her lips.

"I won't play second fiddle to a slip of a lad Hermione. All or nothing. You want everything? I want the same."

He leaned to the side of her face and placed a soft kiss on her throat. He could feel her heart hammering against her skin. It only served to deepen his arousal to know she felt this every bit as much as he did.

"I thought you didn't do commitment," she groaned softly.

"Neither did I. Yet here we are. There is an exception to every rule, and you're it."

He trailed hot kisses over the skin revealed by the too large neck of her clothing. He felt her hand tangle in his hair as she pressed herself closer to his lips.

"How do I know you aren't just after the thrill of it?" she managed between the quiet moans he was eliciting.

He shifted slightly and the stiffness in his groin pushed against her hip. She clutched at his shirt in an effort to close the gap between them.

"How do I know this isn't just to get back at Ron?" he countered.

"When he kissed me, I imagined it was you," she gasped as he nuzzled her ear.

He paused and smirked, drawing back to look at her again.

"I haven't been able to look seriously at any other woman for six months," he confessed.

She looked at him, genuinely surprised. Her eyes softened and she reached up to gently take his hand from her lips, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Take whatever you want. I don't think I could deny you anything anymore."

He groaned and cupped her face tenderly. Becoming suddenly serious, he leaned in and very deliberately kissed her. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, cleaving utterly to him, her body curved forward in aching harmony with his.

Hermione shuddered with the force of the sensations coursing through her. She had never dreamed that a man could evoke such a myriad of emotions or physical responses in her; she hadn't even known it was possible. Every touch was reverent and simultaneously consuming. He was like fire and she was the fuel—every bit of her burned with his heat. His lips on hers, oh, so slowly tracing a path over her cheek to kiss the corners of her eyes, shockingly gentle fingertips mapping the bare flesh of her back, and the subtle but heady way he unrepentantly ran the palm of his hand from her neck to her stomach was intoxicating.

Lust was not ever a word Hermione had thought she would attribute to herself, but here was a completely irresistible urge to give herself to him; the overpowering desire to be marked as his, an almost primal need. She had never before understood just what her friend had once told her about men. There were those who went through the motions and were at best satisfying, and there were those who took everything, unabashedly stripped you bare and poured body and soul into the coupling.

It was men like that who made you scream, and every bone in her body now cried out for his touch. She now understood.

"I am going to make love to you," he whispered in her ear, his hand already caressing the soft, delicate skin between her breasts, as though reminding her that she was only feeling a fraction of what was possible.

A shot of pure desire wracked her body. There was no question in that statement.

"I am going to make love to every bit of you. I am going to make every inch of skin mine." His voice was deep and husky, the distinct thrumming tone of a man at his peak; a raw masculinity which was hypnotic.

"Gods, yes!" Was the last intelligible sound that left her lips until some hours after.

**A/N: I would just like to thank you once again to my diligent BETA Dr. Rae... she did a fantastic job and I am exceedingly grateful for all of her help.**


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